


Like What You See? (See What You Like?)

by Firalla11



Series: Dreamwidth Transfers [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/pseuds/Firalla11
Summary: Andy tears his eyes away, finally, looking to the wall above Brandon's head. “I– um. I’ll just. Go.”“Stay.”





	Like What You See? (See What You Like?)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt: Saad/Shaw "Tongue-tied". I'm marking it complete, but this is one of those fics that feels like it could use a second part. We'll see?
> 
> Heads up for brief, accidental voyeurism that isn't explicitly agreed to or discussed ahead of time.

“Fucking Sharpy,” Andy mutters to himself, jamming his key card into the slot.

He pushes the door to the hotel room open when the light blinks green, grimacing as his shirt sticks to him. Sharpy ‘accidentally’ knocked his tea over while they were out for lunch, soaking his clothes. At least it wasn’t hot.

He kicks his shoes off by the door, grumbling his irritation, and heads further into the room. Brandon's supposed to be here, but he’s not making any–

Andy freezes. Brandon's here alright, lying naked in his bed, sheets pushed down, knees bent, his head propped up against his pillows.

He’s got his hand on his dick. His _hard_ dick, flushed pink in the circle of his fingers and he– he shouldn’t be noticing that, _jesus_.

He forces his eyes up, up to Brandon's face. Brandon's staring back at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. He’s so still Andy’s not sure he’s breathing.

Andy swallows, mouth dry, and just– keeps staring.

His shirt is cooling uncomfortably in the air-conditioned room.

He’s tongue-tied, lost for words like he never is, staring at Brandon while Brandon stares back-

He tears his eyes away, finally, looking to the wall above Brandon's head. “I– um. I’ll just. Go.”

He starts to back up, eyes carefully averted, stops at Brandon's quiet, “Stay.”

He freezes, eyes dipping to Brandon's again. He can’t have heard that right. “What?”

“You can stay. I mean, I…” Brandon trails off, taking his hand off his dick.

Andy follows the movement then wrenches his eyes away again. His heart is pounding. His jeans are uncomfortably tight. “No! No, you don’t– I’ll, um. Bathroom. So you can– I should shower anyway.”

He looks away, finally gets himself moving again, grabs a random handful of clothes from his bag and retreats to the bathroom without another glance over, without waiting for Brandon to reply.

He dumps his clothes on the counter and slams the shower tap on, his shoulders slumping in relief as he pops the button on his jeans, slides the zipper down.

He’s been half-hard since he realized what he walked in on.

He kicks his jeans off, peels his shirt off and steps into the spray. He groans softly, warm water trickling down his skin, over his shoulders, down the muscles of his back, then he tilts his head back, lets the water splash over his face, biting his lip at the curl of heat in his gut, his dick arching up towards his stomach.

He’s shouldn’t– he shouldn’t– that would be weird. He should take a cold shower, try not to think of what’s going on in the other room, only one wall between them, not even a foot away. Brandon's bed is right on the other side, almost against the wall.

If the water wasn’t on, Andy could problem hear him.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Fuck it.

He looks down, trails his hand down his abs, biting back a moan as he finally palms his dick. He widens his stance, spreads his feet on the bottom of the slippery tub, and leans back against the tile, hissing as the cool porcelain touches his bare skin.

It warms quickly.

He closes his eyes. All he can think of, all the can see is Brandon on his back, his hand wrapped around his dick. It’s burned into his brain.

He knows what Brandon's chest looks like, know the way his hair trails down, down over his stomach, thinning but not stopping, all the way to the base of his dick. He knows the cut of Brandon’s muscles – he sees him shirtless every day – his chest, his abs, his arms. He knows what they look like when he flexes, can imagine how they look when he jerks off.

He wonders if Brandon's loud. If he is, Andy’s never heard him, and they’ve been road roomies for months. Maybe he doesn’t jerk it in the shower, maybe the only time he does is when Andy’s not around, when he thinks he’s going to have the room to himself.

Maybe he likes to take his time.

Andy sucks in a sharp breath, so close so fast. He tightens his grip, biting his lip, trying not to make noise–

Brandon moans, not quite drowned out by the sound of water.

Andy’s eyes fly open. He curls in on himself as he comes, water washing everything away moments later.

He straightens slowly, panting, soaps himself down and rinses off on autopilot, leaves the water on when he gets out - just in case, just in case - dries off cursorily and pulls clean clothes on. He managed to grab sweats and a clean shirt, at least.

He finger-combs his hair, checking his face in the mirror. His cheeks are red, but that can be blamed on the heat of the water, probably. There’s nothing there that will give him away.

He takes a breath before he turns the water off, bracing himself, unsure what he’s going to hear.

He sighs his relief when he hears exactly nothing. No sounds echoing into the bathroom from the bedroom.

No sounds to tell him if– if Brandon's done, or if he’s still busy or–

He startles at the soft knock on the door.

Not busy then. Okay.

Andy takes a breath and straightens his shoulders, determined not to make this weird. He grabs his clothes and heads for the door.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” he says, trying to slip past Brandon, out into the hall.

He stops when Brandon snags his elbow, swallows as he realizes Brandon's eyes are still dark, his cheeks still flushed, his smile lazy, and he _really_ didn’t need to know what Brandon looks like after he comes.

He can feel himself blushing.

Right. Not weird at all.

“Thanks,” Brandon says.

“No problem,” Andy says. Well. Squeaks.

He looks away. Yeah, this is weird.

Brandon squeezes his elbow. “Hey, are we good?”

Andy tries for a smile. “Duh, B, of course we are.”

There’s a pause, then Brandon steps away, letting go of Andy. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Andy says.

He’s frozen until Brandon closes the bathroom door behind himself, then he turns, dumping his tea-soaked clothes beside his bag to deal with later.

He flops face down on his bed, pressing his face into his pillow.

This is fine. They’ll be fine.

He just– has to stop thinking about Brandon's dick.

Totally doable.

Totally.


End file.
